‘You’re saying you’d allow a lot of lazy, illiterate Peruvian peasants to run their own country?’ laughed Neville. ‘They’d never become a developed nation, no matter how rich they are in natural resources.’
‘I think what Rosamund is trying to say—’ began Dominic, but she cut him off with an angry shake of her head.
‘I am perfectly capable of expressing myself,’ she said.
‘Oh, we can see that,’ said Clara, rolling her eyes.
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ snapped Rosamund. ‘If I’m able to form an opinion, it’s because I am the product of the liberal school system in this country, which says that every child is entitled to an education regardless of background or sex.’
‘Goody, at least we’ve brought sex into it,’ smiled Clara.
‘Why not? Aren’t you glad we have the vote, Clara?’
‘I certainly don’t think we should go around burning our bras.’
‘Oh, I don’t think that’s such a bad thing,’ said Zander, his voice dripping with lechery.
‘Shut up, Zander!’ said Clara and Dominic simultaneously.
‘All right, all right,’ said Jonathon, standing up. ‘No more politics, please. Let’s all retire to the lounge and have another drink, hmm?’
‘I should go,’ said Ros through gritted teeth as she accepted a cup of coffee from the butler.
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘I want to go,’ she said more curtly.
She asked the housekeeper for her coat, whilst Dominic went to make their excuses. Ros gave a genuinely fond farewell to Jonathon – she had liked him – but the others didn’t seem too upset to see her go. Outside, she and Dom stood in silence on the pavement.
‘Go back in if you want to,’ she said, wondering how far they were from the tube.
Dominic still didn’t say anything, but she wasn’t going to let him make her feel guilty.
‘Well, do you think that went well?’ she asked, hovering by the door of his car, unsure he was even going to offer her a lift.
He let out a long breath. ‘Perhaps not the sparkling success I’d hoped, no.’
‘We might have got on better if your stupid friends didn’t insist on sticking to the ignorant, reactionary opinions of their parents,’ replied Ros.
‘Don’t blame it on my friends,’ said Dominic, looking suddenly annoyed. ‘Or their parents.’
Ros huffed.
‘It was only a dinner party, Ros. There was no need to get so hostile or mock my friends or call them stupid.’
‘I wasn’t mocking them. I was trying to correct them.’
‘Correct them?’
He gave a slight shake of the head, and Ros knew that she had crossed a line.
‘Ros, why do people with such fervent views as yourself assume that any political position that isn’t exactly the same as theirs is somehow flawed?’
‘Because it is!’ said Rosamund.
‘Is it? And I suppose your dreamy principles are completely watertight? Do you really think that the socialist states in Russia and Cuba are these glorious idylls free from greed and self-interest? I know you care deeply about what is going on in Vietnam and the Congo. But by your own admission, you haven’t been further east than Margate.’
‘I was born in Hungary, Dominic. I’ve seen first hand what flawed politics can do,’ she said, hating him at that very moment.
Another silence.
‘I’m going,’ she said finally, buttoning up her coat.
‘Let me drive you home.’
‘I’m not going home.’
‘Where are you going?’ he asked, his face clouding with concern.
‘I’m going to the office.’
He glanced at his watch and smiled, the passing tension apparently over. ‘It’s nine thirty at night.’
‘I won’t stay long. I just have to catch up on a few things.’
‘At this time?’
‘We’re going on a protest march tomorrow,’ she explained.
‘What are you planning on saving this time?’
‘Stop making fun of me,’ she said angrily.
‘I’m not. I am genuinely interested in your work.’
She exhaled, a little cloud of breath mushrooming in the cool night air. ‘All right then. We’re protesting about the legalisation of betting shops.’
‘The legalisation of betting shops?’ he said, smiling.
Ros glared at him. ‘I know how much you like a game of blackjack, but this is sucking people who can’t afford it into gambling.’
They both got in the car and Ros rested her elbow on the edge of the window, turning away from him and gazing out.
They drove in silence, South Kensington, then Knightsbridge slipping by, until they came to Piccadilly. Green Park was like a big gaping hole on their right. The car seemed tiny and vulnerable next to the red buses zooming past.
‘I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy yourself,’ said Dom as he turned the Stag in to Soho. ‘They should have been more welcoming to you, especially Neville.’
‘I liked Jonathon and Michaela. The others . . . I think we were just not a very good social match.’
‘If I’m totally honest, I thought you were going to shake up what might otherwise have been a bloody dull dinner party.’
‘Ah, let’s bring the pet tiger along for entertainment. No wonder you invited me.’ As with everything she said to Dominic Blake, her words came out sharper and more sarcastically than intended.
‘That’s not it, said Dominic more softly. ‘I brought you because I think you’re smart and funny and interesting and I wanted my friends to see all that too.’
‘Oh really?’ Rosamund met his gaze in a challenge. ‘And why’s that?’
‘Because I like you,’ he said simply.
‘The office is just here,’ she said, pointing towards the tired block on Brewer Street. ‘Don’t park up. You might be tempted to go to Raymond’s Revue,’ she added, nodding in the direction of the famous strip bar.
‘You really think I’d do that?’ laughed Dominic.
‘You’re a single guy . . .’
Dom stopped the car.
‘So which one is the famous DAG office?’
‘The penthouse,’ she grinned.
He touched her on the sleeve before she got out of the car.
‘Do you want to go to Ronnie Scott’s next week?’
‘Only if it’s me and you, Professor Higgins,’ she said rather daringly.
‘I think that can be arranged.’
She hated leaving him like this, wished the evening had gone better.
‘Friends again?’ she said, extending her hand.
‘Friends,’ he smiled, and she stepped out on to the pavement.
Chapter Eleven
The stairs of the rickety old building creaked as she went up them. Remembering her outburst at the dinner party, she felt like the mad woman returning to her attic.
Why was she here? she asked herself, reliving Jonathon’s soirée with each slow and steady step. Why hadn’t she just grabbed Dominic by the collar and kissed him on the lips, which was precisely what she had wanted to do ever since that night in Primrose Hill when he had turned around and smiled at her.
It was at that moment that she realised the full force of her feelings for Dominic Blake. It wasn’t that he was good-looking, or charming, or even her editor at an important and talked-about magazine; she did not want to admit to herself that she was so predictable. But here was someone who had bothered to look past her temper and her opinions and seen something to like. And she liked him. She liked him so much, she sometimes couldn’t sleep at night for thinking about him. She imagined what it would be like to kiss him, to wake up next to him in his bed, to hear him say, I love you, Rosamund Bailey.
But that was the stuff of dreams, of fantasy. She hadn’t kissed him, she never would. And the way she was sometimes so rude to him, so deliberately difficult, it was little short of miraculous that he hadn’
t stopped returning her calls.
Her steps slowed to a stop when she reached the door of the DAG office on the top floor, and she sighed as she fumbled around for her key.
She had hoped, secretly hoped, that the night might have ended somewhere more romantic. On Albert Bridge, holding hands at midnight, perhaps. But no. It was ten o’clock and here she was back at work, preparing for a protest march for an issue she cared very little about. Nor was she sure that the small rally outside the proposed site of a tote shop on Bethnal Green Road would make any difference to the gambling habits of the nation anyway.
She slotted the key into the lock but the door was already open.
Ros frowned. Ever since Sam’s revelation about her relationship with Brian, she had been nervous about finding the two of them in a compromising situation in the office, and someone was certainly in there now. She crept inside and peered around.
The light was so low that she had to squint, and besides, the room was so full of files and boxes, it was difficult to make out exactly who or what was in here.
After a moment, she heard the flush of the loo at the back of the office and Brian came out of the cubicle zipping up his flies.
‘Brian, you scared the living daylights out of me,’ she laughed, holding her hand to her chest.
‘It’s only me,’ he said, coming quickly back to his desk at the far side of the office. Two filing cabinets and a stack of books and boxes acted as a natural barrier between him and Ros.
‘What are you doing here at this time?’ she asked, moving towards him.
‘I could wonder the same about you,’ he replied, his words prickly and defensive.
She was immediately on edge. Brian had walked past his desk and was in her personal space.
‘Where’s Sam tonight?’
‘Visiting her parents in Hampshire. She’ll be back in time for the demo tomorrow.’
Ros already knew this but she’d wanted to test him.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, craning her neck so she could see his desk.
‘I was just typing out some literature.’
Ros nodded, her eyes subtly searching the room. On the face of it, there was nothing suspicious about what he was saying, but something was making her instincts bristle.
‘Let’s have a read.’ She didn’t miss him flinching.
‘I’ll show you when I’ve finished.’
‘Come on, Brian, let’s have a look.’ She tried to get past him.
‘Don’t go over there,’ he said, deliberately blocking her way.
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s private.’
‘Brian, what the hell is going on?’ she asked, her eyes darting around, her ears searching for noise.
She had heard stories from sleepy suburbia about postmen hiding in wardrobes, lovers being ushered out of back doors to avoid detection. She thought of those stories and felt instantly nervous for Sam.
‘Just leave me alone. I’m only working.’
‘Then why won’t you let me see your desk?’
‘Because there’s nothing to see.’
‘Now you’ve really made me want to have a look.’ She laughed nervously.
‘Piss off, Ros,’ he hissed.
‘Let me through, Brian,’ she said, trying to squeeze around him.
He pushed her with such force that she tumbled back, her legs buckling under her, her head smashing against a table as she fell.
She cried out in pain and drew her hand to her skull, holding it there for a moment as she felt her palm grow wet and warm.
She could hear footsteps running up the stairs.
All she could do was moan, and then she felt a pair of strong arms lift her back to her feet. She sighed in relief when she saw Dominic.
‘Ros, are you okay?’ he said, holding her tightly for a second.
Brian tried to push past them and make a run for it, but Dominic stopped him. Brian swung a feeble punch; Dom grabbed his fist and twisted his arm until it was bent back behind his body.
‘What the hell is going on?’ he asked.
‘The desk,’ croaked Ros. ‘He’s hiding something.’
She staggered towards it, the pain in her head still throbbing like a heartbeat.
At first she saw nothing suspicious.
There was a roll of insulating tape on the desk, a large box of nails and a thick brown envelope. She picked it up and looked at the address label. She recognised the name instantly – a prominent Tory MP, known for his war-mongering ideals.
Peering inside the envelope, she saw that it was full of nails.
‘Put it down,’ growled Brian.
There was something else on the desk. Two sticks that looked like wax candles.
‘Don’t touch that,’ shouted Dominic urgently as Ros reached towards them.
She dropped the envelope and a shower of nails fell out on to the floor.
‘Brian, what’s going on?’ she asked, feeling increasingly panicked.
‘Get off me,’ he shouted, and charged forward like a dog on a leash, his chest pushed out, a bluish vein protruding on his forehead. Dom had to restrain him with both hands.
‘What is going on?’ Ros screamed.
‘Two years we’ve spent doing this, Ros. Two years. And what notice have people taken of anything we have done? None.’ Brian’s teeth were bared, and there was spittle dripping from the corner of his mouth.
‘What is that on the desk?’ she asked, her voice shaking with panic.
‘Gelignite,’ replied Dominic quickly. ‘Tell her, Brian. Tell Ros what you’re doing here so late at night. You’re making a parcel bomb, aren’t you?’
‘People need to take notice,’ hissed Brian, his eyes angry and unrepentant.
‘And you’re prepared to kill to make yourself heard?’ Dom applied more pressure to his restraint. He glanced at Ros, and she could tell by the look in his eyes that he was praying she knew nothing about this.
‘I didn’t know,’ she whispered.
‘We need to call the police,’ said Dominic after a moment.
‘The police?’ she repeated, feeling panic swell in her throat. She started to sob. ‘But they’ll close down the group.’
‘Where’s the nearest phone?’ asked Dom, his voice calm and clear.
‘There’s one in the hall by the front door, but I think we’ve been cut off.’
‘Then find a phone box and call this number,’ he said, reciting some digits.
She grabbed a pen, her hands shaking as she wrote down the number.
‘Who should I speak to?’
‘My friend will answer. Tell him I asked you to call. Give him this address and come back as quickly as you can, you understand me?’
Ros nodded, and headed out of the office.
She ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time, almost stumbling on her kitten heels.
The hall phone was out of order – she couldn’t recall paying any bill for a very long time – but she knew there was a phone box fifty yards away on Brewer Street. She ran out of the front door and down the street, the lights of Soho passing by in tear-blurred stripes of red and hot pink.
She called Dom’s friend. The conversation was short. She had no idea who he was, but he seemed to understand what was being asked of him with brisk efficiency.
When she returned to the DAG office, Brian was gone. She could hear banging sounds coming from inside the toilet. Dominic was rubbing his hand.
‘Have you locked him in there?’ she asked, noticing that there was a chair pushed up against the door.
Dom nodded.
‘I bet he went in there willingly,’ she said grimly. ‘You’ve torn your jacket,’ she added, touching a seam that had come apart.
He shrugged and pulled a cigarette packet from his pocket.
‘I think I need one of those,’ said Ros.
He lit one for her and then put one in his own mouth, getting a light from the glowing end of Ros’s.
&n
bsp; ‘Who’s your friend?’
‘Not the police,’ replied Dominic quickly.
He wasn’t looking at her and she couldn’t detect any emotion in his voice.
‘I was wrong to say not to call them. I was just scared. I don’t care if the group has to be shut down. Brian is dangerous and he has to be stopped.’
Dominic turned his full gaze on her in the soft light.
‘I don’t care about the Direct Action Group or about Brian, but I care about you,’ he said finally. ‘If the police get involved, you will be investigated. Probably arrested and even charged.’
It was a possibility that Ros hadn’t considered.
‘But I’ve done nothing. I knew nothing about this.’
‘In your line of business, I expect you’ve been in trouble with the police before,’ he said quietly.
‘There was a police caution last year . . .’
She didn’t need to finish her sentence.
‘We should let my friend deal with it.’
There was a noise at the door. Ros turned and saw two men in dark overcoats coming in. Dominic seemed to recognise them immediately and asked her to go and wait on the street while he spoke to them.
She nodded and went to sit in the doorway of the building. She stubbed her cigarette out on the pavement and closed her eyes.
A parcel bomb, she thought with a shudder.
It wasn’t possible. Brian was angry at the establishment. Angry about everything if truth be told. But she hadn’t suspected for one moment that he had been radicalised. That he was capable of hurting – of killing – someone for his beliefs.
She shivered in the cold and pulled her collar around her neck. The cut on her head was throbbing and she wished she had some aspirin to quash the pain.
Finally she heard footsteps behind her.
Standing up, she turned round, and as Dominic extended his arms, she allowed herself to be enveloped by them.
She closed her eyes, feeling safe, as if everything for that one moment was all right.
‘I didn’t know,’ she whispered.
‘I know,’ he said, and she felt his arms squeeze her just a little more tightly.
‘Your head is cut,’ he said, pulling back in concern.
‘It’s okay,’ she shrugged.
The Last Kiss Goodbye Page 10
